


Can't be undone

by FancifulRivers



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self Harm, Poisoning, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 12:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6116457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancifulRivers/pseuds/FancifulRivers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did you really think you could find happiness?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't be undone

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Undertale.

Happiness is foreign to you.

You don't remember being happy above, in the world of humans that are supposed to be just like you. Your parents despise you. Your neighbors disdain you. The kids at school laugh and call you names.

The Dreemurrs do none of that.

Toriel makes you pie and teaches you to knit, ever patient with your clumsy fingers. Asgore makes you tea and tells you stories of the monsters he rules over. Asriel takes videos of the two of you with a shitty little camcorder and lets you touch the soft fur on his paw pads (they remind you of a cat you once met, a cat with soft black fur and the daintiest whiskers you've ever seen, that let you pet her and purred like an engine and you smiled because at least something living could stand your company). Azzy makes you laugh, and for once, it's not tainted with bitterness or the emptiness that always swallowed you whole.

You get tucked in at night and you color shaky-lined drawings and take pictures like a big, happy family. Toriel takes your knife away when she catches you drawing red lines on your wrists with the tip. You eye your new knitting needles, itching to jam them through your fingers, but you clench your fists and let Azzy hug you and Toriel distract you. It's not easy, but maybe it's not as hard as it was. You make Asgore a sweater and smile nervously, peeking through your bangs to see his reaction. He loves it.

They even keep chocolate in the fridge for you. You pretend you aren't smiling every time you open the door and see it, but it sparkles in your eyes anyway. You wonder if this is what it's like to feel loved. You wonder if you're really a monster inside like these, not the ones draped in human skin.

You just want to make him laugh.

It will be totally funny, right? Azzy agrees, and the two of you tiptoe into the kitchen. Asriel helps you tip the buttercup petals into the batter, because for some reason, they sting your hands. Monster paws are tougher, Asriel suggests with a playful crinkle of his snout, and you snort, nearly shoving him off the stool Toriel keeps in the kitchen for both of you. As if, you tell him. 

Buttercups instead of cup of butter. You've never baked by yourself before. Well, Asriel is helping (and trying to take over), but the point is, Toriel's not overseeing, because it's a secret, and you're going to make it the best pie the boss monsters have ever seen, and then you're going to tell Asgore what you did, and he will laugh and his eyes will crinkle at the corners and Toriel will hide her amusement behind her sleeve like she's done so many times before. And maybe Toriel will let you and Azzy help more in the kitchen, and you can make Asgore his tea, too, just the way he likes it, and everything will be Good and you can be Happy.

Only-

You don't know what's wrong. You didn't try it yourself, you wanted it to be special, just for your Mr. Dad Guy, and he's not smiling or even scrunching up his nose in confusion at the weird taste. He just looks...sick. 

You didn't know. You find yourself backing away, pressing yourself against the front door. You're so pale, trembling, but it doesn't matter because nobody's focused on you, they're focused on him, because he's poisoned, you  _poisoned_ him, Asriel helped but it's  _your fault_.

You don't realize you're laughing until Asriel tugs on your sleeve, begging you to stop in a shocked whisper, but you can't stop, the laughter burns your throat like the buttercups must be burning Asgore's, and you can't stop laughing because you've fucked it all up, you've fucked everything up-

Maybe some humans really are born bad.

Or maybe it's just you.


End file.
